


Keep Friends Close, Keep Marks in the Dark

by Punk_Kenobi



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: As most of my stories are, F/M, Gen, I've been working on this for days, Inspiration by Frank Abagnale, This Is STUPID
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-24
Updated: 2013-04-24
Packaged: 2017-12-09 09:15:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/772534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Punk_Kenobi/pseuds/Punk_Kenobi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"Douglas loved variety, the spice of life, and he'd learned early on that law abidance wasn't going to net him that feeling of success and confidence he so craved."</i> </p>
<p>A Con-man!Douglas AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep Friends Close, Keep Marks in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, I was shown the Wikipedia page for Frank Abagnale, a notorious con-man from a while back and the inspiration for Catch Me If You Can, and I thought to myself, "Wow, this man really is like Douglas." And that's kind of how this happened. I could tinker with it forever, but I'd like to put it up just so I stop doing that.
> 
> Un-beta'd, as usual. Did some research on a lot of things but mainly the British stuff. It's still wildly inaccurate, most likely. Who knew there was an English to Cockney English translator created by real Cockney speakers on the internet, though?

Douglas loved variety, the spice of life, and he'd learned early on that law abidance wasn't going to net him that feeling of success and confidence he so craved.

He'd developed the skill as a youth, picking the locks on school lockers and taking seemingly insignificant objects that the students wouldn't miss with deft and quick hands. One of his fondest memories was a girl who had an entire jewelry box in hers. He'd put the money in the box itself when the sales were said and done, no one the wiser. He only targeted lockers whose owners hadn't touched them for months. Plus, he'd done a few break-ins to abandoned houses just to show off to his friends. He never went into the houses himself, he made sure the others left their fingerprints on the lock before quietly slipping away as the sounds of sirens could be heard. 

_"Oh shit, it's the fuzz! Get out of here!"_

_Douglas was already waiting around the corner, watching from behind a crop of trees as his friends were stopped in their tracks by police. Several were spitting cusses and oaths at them, while others even went as far as to hit or kick them. Just as he was about to run, a hand was on his shoulder._

_"And where do you think you're going, young man?"_

_He wasn't going to jail over something so petty. Douglas knew that for a fact. Even as he was pushed towards the group, many of them yelling at him and asking why he bailed like a pussy instead of going into the dilapidated house with them, he was secretly grateful for the extra bobby pin his sister hadn't needed in her hair that day. He was thrust over the hood of the police car as handcuffs were put on him, and Douglas whispered to one of the others, "I heard that you can get a year, maybe two in prison for this."_

_Obviously, there ensued chaos. Kicks and awkward head-butting sprang forth from the other teens, but Douglas was composed. He knew it was taking the cops all of their manpower to resist the youths' violent outbursts, and with that intentional distraction, Douglas bit his lip and concentrated, contorting himself to get the bobby pin out of his pocket and picked the lock on the handcuffs. After a few goes, the cuffs made a click sound and he shook out of them, silently slipping away while the cops were distracted._

_There was such an uproar and everything happened so fast, he was forgotten and never served any time._

Douglas also learned early on that he had a knack for forging documents. He'd spent time watching his parents write, at least when his parents were around. He'd take care of his younger siblings by day, which meant going to the playground with his brother and sisters and letting them play while he read on a bench. He'd made sure they did their chores and homework beforehand, of course. By night, after he'd come home from impressing his friends with his skills, he'd watch his parents work, as the both of them ran their own law firm. Their handwriting patterns were simple, and pretty soon he was able to fake notes for his teachers to read and they'd dismiss him every time. He'd then take the rest of the afternoon to read underneath a tree near the creek he loved in the few rays of sunshine the weather had to offer. He'd even made a permission slip for a trip he knew his parents wouldn't let him go on. The teachers accepted it without suspicion. A child wasn't supposed to be able to do those things, Douglas knew that was what they were thinking. Adults always assumed the least of children, that they couldn't do things adults could. 

Oh, how they were wrong. The confusion and anger his teacher showed when her prized first-edition of To Kill a Mockingbird had been stolen made Douglas light up with pride, smiling. He'd read the entire thing in two days before selling it for fifty pounds. He could finally buy one of those Atari systems with that and the other money he'd saved.

He'd be even more popular, since no one had one. Douglas had no complaints.

\----------

Douglas quickly moved away from petty thievery and break-ins. They were too conspicuous and he knew soon he'd get caught. Cons were where his talent really shined. 

There were the simple cons, like fleecing his friends. It usually only took some verbal flourishes and a bit of subtle manipulation no one noticed before he'd get his reward.

_"Come on, Lewis, you don't need that watch, it's worthless. Whoever bought you that was a cheapskate. Look at all the fake diamonds!" He pointed to the stones set around the face of the watch. "They don't shine the same way real ones do. I bet you a fiver I can get it sold in two days."_

_The teen thought about it for a second, examining the watch he'd received as a gift. Douglas knew his best friend wouldn't know the difference between a fake and real Rolex. Lewis was rather dim and far too naive for his own good. His pride raised with the trusting smile Lewis gave him. Douglas loved betting and so did Lewis._

_"Thanks, Douglas, I don't know what I'd do without you."_

_Little did he know the watch was worth a hundred pounds and Douglas had gained a fiver, too._

And then there were the more complex ones, which involved assumed names and grandiose stories to cover his tracks. Douglas had no problems with those, either, as he was a wonderful storyteller. In another life, he'd have been a great author. He was also an amazing actor, which helped him later in life. He could stage the most convincing of scams with a few crocodile tears. Douglas held disdain for the times he'd had to bawl like a baby to help his case, but the reminder that it was all an act kept him going for it. Sometimes he didn't even need tears. Cold cynicism or distant apathy worked as well.

_"Please tell me exactly what happened."_

_Douglas feigned anxiety, looking away from the policeman in a way he knew to be a sign of emotional distress and held the arm he'd conveniently banged up earlier while working at his job as a part-time construction worker. With a contemplative look, he sighed and told the officer everything he knew in his best Cockney._

_"I was mugged, I told you! My watch, engagement ring, all I had on me was taken. I was walking home from the pub, can't say I hadn't had a few drinks but I was able to walk and talk. Then this punk came out of nowhere, pulled out a gun! A semi-auto, I think, don't know me gun types, but it didn't look like a regular pistol to me. 'Gimme what you got.' he'd said." Douglas scowled. "Who could say no to a man with a gun aimed at your bloody heart, yeah?"_

_"Alright, alright. What did he look like?"_

_"A regular sort of man, rather tall, bit of weight 'round the middle. Looked to be young, well, older than me, maybe late twenties. Orange hair and a baseball cap on. Can't remember much else, sorry, it's been a very rough night, okay?"_

_"It's alright, sir. We'll recompense you for the time being and maybe even get your things back."_

_Douglas smiled a faux smile of relief, though it was only half-feigned before he realized it later on. This was one of the most dangerous schemes he had done and he'd gotten away with it. The adrenaline rush that came over him a few hours later was intoxicating._

_"Thank you so much. You don't know what this means to me. Blimey..."_

Scam after scam, every pound he extorted and hoarded like a content dragon in his many Swiss bank accounts he'd acquired through the years was one more that could put him in prison for life, but he longed for the danger and challenge. He loved the thrill of the heist, subtle as his were but intricate in nature. His schemes let him do things with his life with such variety that not many have in their lives. Medical student, university professor, thespian, lawyer, he even nearly became CEO of a wealthy company once, all while managing smaller scams like extorting money from friends or abusing the return policies at shops. 

Career after career came and went as Douglas hopped from country to country when he felt the threads of his plans grow taut with suspicion. Whether it was a co-worker asking too many questions or even the sight of a police presence near his location, he quickly packed up what little material possessions he had and jetted off to whatever country he fancied that didn't have a warrant against him. His suave, calm, and collected demeanor followed his every step and he easily slid into each new life with the promise of a new mark being the only thing keeping him grounded. He adapted to new cultures and spoke with new accents with ease. He was a chameleon in any environment.

Douglas made sure every facet of his life was dealt with properly, from false names on documents to keeping himself anonymous, even with the start of the internet and increased connectivity across the globe. He'd never had a landline phone, only a cell phone without internet accessibility. He switched phones often to keep his calls under wraps, as he knew that as technology changed the police would be able to monitor cell phones as well as landlines. The few friends he had became acquaintances and no one knew anything about him or anything of his numerous aliases. Everything Douglas did was accounted for to the letter, aside from one thing. 

\---------

His second wife, Rachel, whose marriage granted him his most cherished gift, a baby girl named Hannah. Douglas loved Hannah with every fiber of his being, even when awoken at two AM by the screeches of a child in need of a lullaby. He'd sit in the rocking chair they had near her crib and hum songs from his theatrical days quietly until Hannah was fast asleep against his chest. He quickly grew comfortable in his almost domestic life, going to work at the company he was extorting from like any other, coming home in the evening, and playing spell-binding rounds of peek-a-boo with Hannah while Rachel snapped pictures for later reminiscing and occasional teases about his silliness. 

_"What are you doing, love?"_

_Douglas smiled for the camera as he made silly faces at Hannah. Hannah, on her part, giggled and poked his nose. He chuckled and poked hers back, receiving a squeal of delight in return._

_"Just spending time with my favorite lady in the world."_

_Rachel smiled and scoffed. "Oh? What about your favorite wife and your child's mother?"_

_"Jealous, are we?" Douglas got up and hugged Rachel, kissing her cheek. "I could never forget you, love. Perhaps I should amend my statement. My favorite ladies in the world."_

_The smile Rachel gave him lit up Douglas' world. He would never tire of that smile. The three of them were a perfect family unit. He even tolerated a few pictures, though the inevitable teasing ensued._

Year after year went by, and although he never moved from Barrow-in-Furness to keep Rachel's suspicion down, his jobs sent him all over England. From as close as the town itself, working as a foreman in one of the manufacturing facilities, to taking a ferry to Blackpool and working in the NS&I, Douglas was always busy. As Hannah grew, his time with her gradually decreased as he kept trying to find job after job, and kept making excuses to Rachel as to why he was out late and commuting longer and longer distances for work. Some nights he'd simply find a couch in a lounge somewhere and kip for a few hours instead of coming home. Pubs were also his common haunts, always had been, but he'd made absolutely sure to be at home or some other place of solitude before he'd said anything incriminating or just personal. Alcoholism tied in with a career as a con-man was an even more dangerous mixture, and it was a matter of time before he'd stumbled in the house around three AM, having been dropped off by a cab, an irate Rachel waiting for him and the answers he wouldn't be able to give to questions that Douglas knew to be entirely too personal.

_"Where the hell have you been?! I've been worried sick about you, Douglas!"_

_Douglas sat in his armchair, trying to puzzle together a good story. The alcohol in his system made it difficult._

_"I was...at the pub, as usual. Late work night, you see, very stressed out, needed to calm my nerves..."_

_"You needed to calm your nerves at three AM with booze when you could have been here sleeping or perhaps comforting your daughter after she had a nightmare? She's only seven, she'd like to know her daddy can scare away monsters, you know. Kind of makes you look bad if you come home this late, hammered and exhausted, and Hannah doesn't know where you are when she needs you."_

_"I know, I know!" Douglas had heard this before, though not to this level of severity, rubbing his forehead. "I promise, I'll be home earlier tomorrow night."_

_"What are you even doing that requires you being out so late?"_

_Douglas couldn't tell her he was secretly removing money in inconspicuous amounts from hundreds of clients' accounts. He had to stay late when no one was around to do so, and it required plenty of lock-picking into deposit boxes. With a flippant wave of his hand, he simply replied, "I'm doing high-security work. Can't really talk about it. Could get fired."_

_He would be at some point, if he didn't leave first._

Rachel knew him by another name, of course. No one knew his real name. Douglas knew this life would have to end at some point and he'd have to move onto another so he wanted them to never be associated with his criminal activity. He'd given them a special surname that only the three of them shared. Once he'd leave, he'd change it so they were never hounded or harassed by police. That time seemed extremely finite, though, as Rachel became more and more fed up with his late arrivals home and the sneaking suspicion she was being lied to. He kept the marriage together as long as he could, but Rachel soon noticed his aversion towards policemen and inquired. He made up a riveting story about his father being wrongly accused in a low-key murder trial and how the police's quickness to judge put him off law enforcement. Rachel didn't believe it for a second, and though Douglas hated lying to his wife, hated it with passion, it was necessary. 

From then on, anything he said, anything he told her she took with a grain of salt and eventually Rachel asked for divorce. Douglas couldn't do much but acquiesce to her demands, including full custodial rights. He couldn't take a child halfway across the world every year or two to avoid the police, that would have been cruel to Hannah. With heaviness in his heart, he took his meager belongings and left quietly in the middle of the night, leaving a note to Hannah, handwritten with his personal stationery that he knew Hannah liked because there were kittens on them. Being eight, Hannah would be old enough that the concept of divorce wouldn't baffle her entirely, not with the Richardson genetics she'd been blessed with, but Douglas knew she'd be wounded for a while, just as he would be. As he was when his parents split, though he was sure Hannah wouldn't run off like he did.

_Dearest Hannah,_

_I won't say it to you like a baby, you're old and smart enough to understand, you've got a head like mine on your shoulders. Your mother and I are getting a divorce and I can't stay. I'm sure you've heard the yelling, I know how it feels. My parents fought, too. Unlike mine, however, your parents both love you very much and I'm deeply sorry for what you had to hear. I'll try to see you when I can, but I'm not sure when that'll be. Listen to your mother, behave, but don't let rules hold you down from what you want to do. Breaking them is more fun, trust me, and the punishments are usually worth it. Always remember your father loves you very much, even when he's not around. I'm even carrying a picture of you with me, the one you like from when we went to the beach on your sixth birthday. Yes, the one with my head stuck in the sand. How that even happened I'll never know._

_See you when I can, I'll call within a day or two but the numbers will keep changing on the caller ID. That's normal._

_I love you, sweetie._

_Daddy_

\----------

He told himself he wouldn't become attached when he first began his schemes. He told himself that loving someone would lead to heartbreak. But Douglas knew how much of a sucker he could be, which is why he became hardened since. No love for anyone or anything except his scams and the burn of whiskey as he pondered what he'd do next in a dingy pub in the little town in Scotland where he stayed temporarily, sorting out where he'd go from there. Banks were too high-risk this late in the game, he'd never try medical work again once a child nearly died in his care due to his incompetence, and lawyer work was drier than the martinis the lady absolutely coated in makeup sitting next to him drank. He'd have to move quickly, but he couldn't stay long, as his schemes were becoming noticed. The newspapers had his names on them, and the websites he perused for the news while in public libraries loved trying to figure out just who he was. 

_"Notorious Extortionist Strikes NS &I-Are Your Bonds and Savings Safe?"_

_"Con-man Suspected in Scandal With Court Proceedings"_

_"Scammer Assumes Multiple Guises, Police Say"_

_"Wanted Criminal In Over Ten Countries Baffles Police"_

Douglas was growing concerned, drinking cheap coffee from a paper cup at the desk of a decrepit Macintosh that had seen better days and better upkeep in the Portlethen Library. So far none of the tabloids had gotten his picture, but a few of his names were appearing in searches. There were plenty of surnames he could use, but the risk of him beginning to muddle details about different alibis was climbing. He had to keep on top of things, including the papers, but most of all, he had to disappear until the papers no longer cared.

A thought occurred to him and it would be perfect.

\--------

His prowess with document forgery had become very useful, as he was able to create just about any document he needed. From immigration documents to drivers' licenses, work visas to college transcripts, Douglas had made his own copies of any documents his particular situation required. It was easy enough to forge the papers and license necessary to sign on with Air England after going to flight school for a few months. He didn't particularly want to crash them into the ground but he wasn't about to memorize everything about aviation, as it wasn't his real joy in life. If anything, it opened a new venue for scams, as now he could move around endlessly, never staying in one city more than a night or two, all expenses paid. 

Douglas quickly found a group of gentlemen who were very nice chaps and obviously did a bit of smuggling on the side, it wasn't hard to find such things once he knew the signs, and was immediately given work. Seems his aliases had gotten around quite a bit and they were glad to have such an esteemed person among their ranks. He was given anything, ranging in legality, and he knew how to hide the cargo well enough for it to never get spotted and how to get it on and off the plane without any middlemen. He wasn't making much aside from what they gave him for each assignment, but by this time Douglas was quite wealthy, so he wasn't particularly choosy. He liked being able to enjoy the thrill of knowing what he was doing without having to scrape for cash by doing it. Stealing soon came after, and Douglas was already a decent pickpocket. It was all about stealth, and while he'd bulked up a bit in his more recent years, he was still able to glide silently through the crowds of Shanghai, Moscow, Kolkata, or anywhere he happened to land and manage to make a few hundred pounds each trip simply by his hand "accidentally" slipping into purses or pockets. 

This was what Douglas wanted from life. He called Hannah and sent gifts on holidays and sometimes just because he could, he occasionally visited with her, and when he wasn't doing that, he was up in the air, perpetuating his love of excitement with each new assignment. He never failed to make a shipment, never caught security's eye, and everything was going well.

Until those damned kimonos. 

_"Excuse me, sir, what is that under your coat?"_

_Douglas feigned confusion, looking around a bit before finding a sliver of pink and green pastel silk was hanging out of the bottom of his coat. He really should have made more of an effort to find camouflage for the silken cargo he'd been stifling in for the past four hours._

_"Oh dear, how did that get there?"_

_The security officers gave him the look that meant he was fooling no one. Pretty soon he was carted off to an interrogation room where the truth was given quite easily among plenty of lies. And airport security had to destroy the value of the kimonos by ripping them out of his jacket, making quite a show of it as well which only increased Douglas' ire. What a waste of money, and it'd come out of his pay, as well._

No one was any the wiser to his face or current alias, changed in appearance as he was, he'd had no qualms with China before and the minor things were easily paid off. At the worst, he was out of a job with Air England. His alibi was airtight and after a discussion with the head of Air England that seemed to fall in the deafening decibel range, Douglas walked out of Hong Kong International with one less career. Not so bad, really. He'd enjoyed flight, so he was sure he'd find somewhere else to work. 

He did eventually, though it was hell trying to convince any legitimate airline to hire him. MJN was far less astringent with security checks and was desperate for any sort of pilot, even a half-assed one such as Douglas. Perfect.

Over the next year or two, Douglas had gotten accustomed to GERTI's ramshackle construction and captain after captain. They never did stay long, often getting various better offers from other airlines. He didn't blame them, Air England was amazing while MJN was rather lackluster. He couldn't go on as many assignments with only one plane in an airline. There was only two of them at a time, which meant even switching back and forth meant shorter trips. And none of it was paid for him. Not that he needed his hotels paid for him, what with his vast fortune at the time, but it was an inconvenience to have to put his names down at hotel after hotel. Someone was going to notice eventually. In the meantime, he flew with whatever captain was at the helm at the time. He didn't particularly want to be captain here, not after Air England. Air England had perks to being a captain. MJN seemed to have drawbacks, if anything. Douglas was content to sit in the First Officer's seat and play word games, nibbling on the cheese tray, the cargo of his secured within insignificant luggage. At night he'd travel from pub to pub and in the morning regret every drink he had as he flew GERTI to a new destination. 

Then Martin came along, and things changed once again. Douglas was used to change by now, even when comfortable in the life he'd made for himself this time. By this time, he was with Helena, who was thankfully less observant than Rachel and was in awe of her partner's intelligence. Martin was left spellbound by how ingenious he was, always trying to puzzle out the steps in his plans. Neither suspected a thing even after a year or two. Helena thought he was a captain, Douglas never bothered to correct her, and when he wasn't at home, making sly and witty remarks to keep her love of him running on all cylinders, he was impressing Martin and the easily amused Arthur with his schemes and tricks that kept MJN from tanking. Though they were rarely monetary in value, Douglas enjoyed the games and plans all the same. The Talisker was his favorite game, a shame it only happened annually. Eventually, Douglas thought he could become legitimate. There were enough opportunities around MJN to show off his prowess and skill, he didn't think he really needed to extort anymore. Oh sure, the acquisition of money was a big part of the thrills, but he could get on well enough without it as long as he was able to show off his intelligence.

But life seemed to throw him curve balls whenever he got comfortable, and this one's name was Herc.

Hercules Shipwright had been an old friend from university, or what Douglas had faked of it anyhow. He knew he'd wanted to become a pilot, but he thought he'd never see the smarmpot again. Being a pilot, though, he should have known just how small the world really was. Herc knew him under a different name, a different career path, an entirely different life altogether. They got on well initially, and Douglas had even considered letting him in on a scam or two due to his similar level of ingenuity, until a run-in with the cops after a night of raucous merriment following final exams. 

_Douglas knew that last screwdriver might have been a bad idea...and maybe the several drinks he'd had before it. He was stumbling, along with Herc, back to their dorm when an idea popped into his head._

_"We should...we should fuck with the dean. Finals are too fucking hard, y'know? Maybe give him a bit of a run for his money and he's got a long run at that."_

_Herc grinned and chuckled. "Good idea...where do we start?"_

_They stopped by a small store and bought some supplies. Spray paint, a bucket, super glue, among other things. They found a map and, under cover of night, sneaked into the empty administrative building. As Herc poured the super glue into the bucket, Douglas unlocked the door to the dean's office and gestured for him to hand the bucket over. Placing it strategically on the door, Douglas gestured silently that they leave before anyone was the wiser and that phase two of their plan be enacted. Using the spray paint they bought, they both wrote crude oaths and several drawings that were less than tactful before leaving to their dorm._

_The next morning was a resounding mess of pandemonium as the faculty searched frantically for the culprit._

Now Herc was back and he could throw him under the bus at any time. He knew Herc had been expelled from Oxford following the incident, citing that "such behavior was unbecoming of a fine student at such an esteemed institution and was, therefore, unacceptable." Douglas had dropped out over the next two days and was in Luton, on his way to Cambridge, by the time Herc was found. That gave Herc plenty of reason to out him to the authorities, as Douglas knew how difficult it would be to find a job after being expelled from one of the best schools around. The fact that he'd left Herc out in the cold almost as soon as they'd woken up with some of the worst hangovers didn't help matters. They had infamous animosity and every confrontation they had while Douglas worked in MJN was absolutely frosty in nature. He wondered when he'd start having to bribe him to keep quiet, but Herc seemed unwilling to let his activities slip to Carolyn or anyone. 

When GERTI arrived in Bordeaux on a routine trip, the many police vehicles weren't a surprise. France was one of the many countries that wanted his head. An unwelcome greeting, of course, but Douglas was no less calm than he had been this whole time. He'd learned to be nonchalant in front of the cops instead of shying away from them as he did in his younger years. Looking guilty was as bad as giving a straight-up confession. Douglas wouldn't and couldn't lie to the cops this time, but it didn't hurt to look confident in his defeat. He did manage to extort millions by now, so he felt rather successful. With a nod to Arthur, Carolyn, and Martin, all bearing varying looks of confusion and shock, Douglas flashed his most charming smile.

"I must bid you adieu for the time being, mon amis, I have some business to attend to. Perhaps I'll be back soon."

Douglas was handcuffed and led away to a police car, chatting amicably in French to the policemen. These weren't as easily persuaded, and one even threatened him to keep quiet. He was told it was an Air France stewardess that recognized him. How predictable. She was such a sweet woman, guileless and intolerant of rule-breaking. A mixture of Martin and Arthur, really. No wonder that relationship didn't last long, and he had said so in no uncertain terms. Apparently Herc knew the woman, too, and dated her. Not a surprise. Herc had told her about him, and she'd told the police.

And here he was, in custody and awaiting trial. He wondered how Martin, Carolyn, and Arthur would react when they flipped through the morning paper and read that their best friend was nothing more than a liar of epic proportions. He wondered what their feelings were towards him now. Confusion? Douglas felt rather guilty for them, actually. They were sort of a second pseudo-family. He didn't feel the crushing defeat of having lied to them as he did Rachel and Hannah, but it felt similar all the same. He then pondered Hannah's reaction. She was all of twelve, just old enough to watch the news and understand some of the content on it. When his face inevitably showed up on the screen, Douglas knew she would be confused, mainly because his crimes were of a fraudulent nature as opposed to brutal. How could someone so good have done such bad things? He could hear Hannah's voice in his mind, asking a question he himself couldn't even answer truthfully to himself. The twisting feeling in his heart at that sentiment made him think.

He'd go legitimate, he decided. His age was wearing on him and the constant running wasn't helping. He'd straighten up, but not before one final act of defiance towards the law. Douglas smiled and unlocked the handcuffs that held him from behind his back. They shouldn't have left him in his civilian, airline pilot clothing while on the way to prison, which required taking a plane back to England. That meant he happened to have a bobby pin in his pocket which he always carried ever since he was a young teen in the aftermath of a break-in, not to mention his appearance of a pilot. Douglas chuckled, this was too perfect.

Just like old times, he thought as he slipped away, exiting the parked plane silently. Douglas entered the airport terminal through one of the service doors with a smile, a sense of déja vu lingering in the front of his mind. He quickly made his way into the throngs of people leaving Heathrow, snatching a hat off of another pilot in the vicinity deftly, the man never noticing a thing, and put it on. Striding out of the airport and hailing a taxi, he told the cabbie to take him to Fitton in his best Belgian accent, mentioning he had a friend there who would help him find an apartment. He still had emergency credit cards he had put in a hidden pocket in his uniform jacket. He could, most certainly, pay for the enormous tab. 

As Douglas lounged in the back of the cab, he smiled to himself, feeling enormously successful and almost couldn't wait to see the hordes of police vehicles storm the little town of Fitton, looking for him. It was worth it to go out with a bang. Perhaps he'd get a haircut to celebrate, change his appearance once more.

_Jeu pour l'enfant,_ he mused. _Child's play._


End file.
